


two-player game

by sourpastels



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sci-Fi Elements, Teen Angst, it's a be more chill au, mentions of recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2019-11-16 04:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18087398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourpastels/pseuds/sourpastels
Summary: Mark takes a sharp inhale of the brisk night air. Out here, it’s just them, under the orange glow of the streetlights. For as long as he can remember, it’s been them — Mark&Jeno, Jeno&Mark, forever bonded by ratty friendship bracelets and old Nintendo games.He wouldn’t give that up for the world.But that doesn’t mean he can’t hope for other things to change.Even if this is ridiculous, even if it’s the long shot to end all long shots, he has nothing to lose by trying.“I’ll be fine, Jeno.” he replies. “After all, I have you looking out for me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilaliacs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilaliacs/gifts).



> I already have a multichapter wip out here but I impulsively decided to yeet this into the void...wish me luck.
> 
> This is heavily based off the musical be more chill, but you don't have to have seen/listened to that to understand this (the soundtrack is really good if you WANT to listen to it though).
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this, kudos and comments appreciated etc.

Mark wouldn’t consider himself a loser.

Sure, he isn’t _cool_. But what does cool really mean in this day and age anyway? Is it really the football players and cheerleaders that the media has been pushing since the 90’s? A lot of things that once weren’t considered cool are slowly becoming more mainstream, like video games, or K-Pop, or jokes that don’t offend anybody. Cool is an ever flowing and evolving idea that is nothing more than a social construct. The idea of being a nerd is a social construct.

But that doesn’t make it any easier when someone shoves past him in the hallway without so much as a second thought - yet again.

In high school, social constructs are more important than anything tangible. The social construct of popularity? It can make or break these four years of your life. If you’re cool, then high school will be your glory years.

These definitely aren’t Mark’s glory years. He’s just trying to survive.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, dumbass!”

“Sorry, Yeri!”

Survival would be a lot easier if he didn’t seem to accidentally bump into every popular kid in his school. Still, he made it through his first class of his senior year today, so he likes to think he’s done okay so far. Yeri probably won’t kill him. They were neighbours once. He remembers when she had braces, and her magical girl phase; his mom probably still has the embarrassing photographic evidence somewhere.

He tunes out the rest of the packed hallway as he searches his locker for the books he needs for his next class. It’s calculus, right? Wait… maybe it’s European history. God, he hates having to get used to a new timetable.

Checking the list he typed up on his phone tells him it’s definitely European history. He slides the right textbook into his backpack, barely noticing the word graffitied in sharpie. Where do people even find the time to vandalise his bag while he’s walking?

Three years of this hell at least means that he can find the right classroom on the first try. He slides into a desk, middle row, next to the wall. Not the front; he doesn’t want to look like he actually _wants_ to learn, and not the back so he can avoid the kids who really _don’t_ want to learn, and by the wall because, hey, he only has one friend anyway.

The door slams open, and the classroom is filled with the melody of a familiar voice.

“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover and the poet

Are of imagination all compact:

One sees more devils than vast hell can hold,

That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt:

The poet's eye, in fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;

And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen

Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.”

Lee Donghyuck is...not Mark’s friend. Lee Donghyuck isn’t popular. Lee Donghyuck isn’t a nerd. Lee Donghyuck has somehow managed to get through high school being nobody but himself, and nobody hates him for it. They’d realised quickly if they tried to hate on him, Donghyuck could destroy their life with his razor-sharp tongue and the fact his father’s the principal. Donghyuck is a fully-realised person walking through the grey silhouettes of their classmates. It’s no wonder he was Mark’s first (and only) crush… a crush he’s pretty sure has passed, but he still can’t take his eyes off the boy walking to his desk like he hadn’t burst in here reciting Shakespeare.

“Yo, Hyuck, why are you reciting Romeo and Juliet?”

Wong Yukhei’s question comes from the back of the classroom. That’s no surprise. He and his friends have sat at the back in every class Mark has ever shared with him. At least it stops people from tripping over the bad of lacrosse equipment he always carries with him.

Donghyuck stops in the middle of the hallway, staring into space with a look that portrays pure and utter discontent for being alive.

“The reason I’m reciting _A Midsummer’s Night Dream_ is that it’s just been announced as the drama club’s next upcoming play,” He tells Yukhei, then turn to the rest of the class. “As always, auditions are open for anyone who wants to sign up for drama club. Actors, set designers, you name it. Also, after Jungwoo’s graduation we really need a new music director.”

Mark’s ears perk up at that. He’d loved music for as long as he could remember, and he’d been working on his own since middle school. Nobody ever heard it except Taeyong when he was working on it in the house, or his best friend, who would obviously tell him it was good. This would be a chance to actually get his music out there, people would hear it and… people would hear it.

And make fun of him, probably.

The idea leaves him as soon as it’s come.

Donghyuck takes his seat and the rest of the class slowly comes pouring it. Finally, just before the very final bell rings, a blur in a red hoodie takes the seat next to Mark.

“I’m not late, right? I meant to be here like, five minutes ago but the guy at 7/11 gave me like… an extra large slushie when I only asked for a normal large and you know Ms. Son would kill me if I even tried to drink it in class.”

Jeno had more than enough experience with Ms. Son’s wrath. The first time they’d ever had class with her, his headphones had been blasting whoever his favourite artist was way too loud and it seemed like she’d always held a grudge. As Jeno’s best friend since kindergarten, Mark had listened to every complaint and theory Jeno had ever had about that. (Currently, he seemed convinced that Mrs. Son was actually a government spy sent to destroy all fun.)

“You’re not late.” Mark assures him.

Jeno blinks at him. “You okay, bud? You look kinda… like ass.”

“Just the usual. High school is hell, all my dreams are meaningless, and I think I flunked the calculus test this morning.” He groans.

Jeno pats his back. “There, there, buddy. I know exactly what will fix this.”

“Is it getting high in your basement?”

“It’s getting high in my basement.” Jeno nods.

“...Okay, sure.”

Mrs. Son comes into the classroom and they fall silent as she starts a lecture about how they’ll be learning about European history this term, and their first assignments are due in two weeks and no, she doesn’t grade easily. They fall silent, focusing on their work, and another boring day of high school proceeds as normal.

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

“Mom, I’m home!” Jeno shouts out as they walk into his house.

There’s a flurry from the kitchen, and then Jeno’s mom rushes out, a tray of… something… in her hands.

“Jeno, just in time! And you brought Mark! Wonderful, hi sweetie. Here, both of you try these.” She holds the tray out to them, and Mark can now see it’s filled with very misshapen cupcakes.

“Uh… thanks mom, but I’m really full from lunch.”

Mark knows for a fact that all Jeno had for lunch was coffee and popping candy.

“Please,” his mom whines. “They’re for mine and your mama’s anniversary. You know she always gets me something incredible from one of her trips so I wanted to do something nice for her.”

“...So you decided to bake? _You?_ ”

Jeno’s mom pouts. “You’ll try one, right, Mark?”

Hesitantly, he takes a cake.

“Mark, don’t do it! You can’t die on me!”

He takes a bite. It’s one of the worst things he’s ever tasted.

“It’s great, Mrs Lee.”

She sees right through him, because she always has.

“Ugh, fine, forget baking. I’ll just make her another candle.”

Jeno shoots her a thumbs up.

“Anyway, me and Mark are gonna go hang out in the basement! Bye mom!”

Jeno drags him downstairs and practically throws him into the bean bag chair before collapsing in the identical one next to it.

“You think after twenty five years of being married they’d stop worrying about anniversaries so much.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s sweet.”

“Right. Sorry.” Jeno shakes his head, then quickly recovers and chucks Mark the Nintendo 64 controller.

“You know what it’s time for? Level nine: The cafetorium.”

Mark grins up at him. “Let’s do it.”

The thing about two-player games is that you have to work together. Well, in some, you have to work against each other, but most of the games he and Jeno played weren’t like that, because honestly, they found it a lot easier to work together than work against each other. They were perfectly in sync as they traipsed through the new level. If Mark got shot, Jeno would heal him. If Jeno had to work on a puzzle, Mark would keep a lookout for zombies. Pretty soon, though not before an energy drink each and a bag of chips shared between them, they’d reached the level's final boss.

The final boss is a _bitch_ , Mark realises as the game over screen flashes for the second time.

“I give up.” He groans, throwing the controller on the ground and falling back in his bean bag chair.

Next to him, Jeno puts his own controller down much more gently and turns to face him.

“It’s level nine, dude. You know this is only a ten level game. You shouldn’t expect it to be easy.”

Is anything ever easy? High school isn’t easy, life at home isn’t easy, this stupid video game isn’t easy.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we were popular? Like, if I was captain of the lacrosse team and you were like...a reckless trouble maker?”

Jeno snorts. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a reckless trouble maker. Besides, I don’t care about being popular. I have you, why would I need anyone else?”

Somehow, that’s both comforting and painful to hear. He knows it isn’t an accusation, but the idea of Jeno thinking he doesn't matter to him isn’t something he can bear to think about. It hurts more than he expects it to, actually.

“Hey, you know that you’re my favorite person,” He says. “I just… ignore me, I’m being an idiot.”

“You’re always an idiot.” Jeno laughs. “But I guess that’s okay. Even if you’re an idiot, you’re my favowite pewson too.”

Mark hits him with a cushion.

After another hour, Mark finally checks the time and groans. He should get going. He has homework to do. It’s tempting to just stay in the warmth of the beanbag and Jeno’s presence, but if he doesn’t leave now he’s gonna end up with ten missed calls.

Jeno walks him to the door. His mom doesn’t make an appearance, but he can hear her voice from the living room. She must be on the phone to her wife, wherever the jetsetting adventurer that Jeno’s mama is is now.

The walk back to his house is short, and though he wants to he doesn’t let it drag on longer than it needs to. Hopefully he’s late enough that he can just go straight to his room without being bothered.

He unlocks the door to find the hall light on, which means…

“Mark. Where were you?”

And there’s Taeyong, standing with his hands on his hips like a disapproving mother instead of the older brother he actually is.

“I was at a friend’s,” Mark replies, shrugging off his jacket.

“Which friend’s?”

“Uhhh, Jeno?” Seriously? It’s not like he _has_ other friends. If Taeyong is going to be overbearing he should at least do it properly and know things about Mark’s life.

“Mark, can you please text next time? I was worried and—“

“Yeah, yeah.” Mark shakes his brother off and takes the stairs two at a time until he reaches his room.

He remembers when Taeyong used to be cool. Back when their parents were still around, they’d watch tv together and tease each other and do everything brothers are supposed to do. Then, their parents decided _neither_ of them wanted the kids in the divorce, and Taeyong became...like that.

He throws himself into his bed with a groan. Nothing is ever easy. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, hoping he can waste away the rest of his evening online.

The screen tells him he has one new text message. That’s not necessarily strange.

What is strange is that the text isn’t from Jeno, or Taeyong, or...well, that’s the whole list of people he expects to ever contact him.

_Unknown:_

Meet me behind the school tomorrow, loser.

...Is he about to get beaten up? It sounds like someone wants to beat him up.

Against his better judgement, he replies.

_Mark:_

Uh...who is this?

_Unknown:_

Wow, I’m hurt Markie. Do you delete all your old friends numbers?

...Old friends? ...Old friends. Immediately, there’s only one person he can think of who fits the bill but...that’s ridiculous. Why on earth would that person get in touch with him now? Still, another typing bubble doesn’t appear on his screen. It seems like if he wants to know who it is, he’s gonna have to throw out his best and only guess.

_Mark:_

Yeri?

_Unknown:_

I guess you’re not as stupid as you look.

_Unknown:_

So, like I said, meet me behind the school tomorrow.

Mark blinks at his phone once, twice, three times, then locks it and plugs it into his charger. That’s a problem he can avoid tomorrow.

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

He wakes up on Friday morning exhausted, moody, and confused...so, basically the same as every other morning. He does, however, feel like he’s forgotten something, which is a little less usual.

Whatever it is, it bugs him the entire bus ride to school. He really hopes it’s not his homework - they’re not far enough into the year for his teachers to be fooled into thinking he’s a good student and therefore let him off.

He makes it to class without any incident, at least. Applied sciences, admittedly not his best subject. It only gets worse when Mrs. Kwon walks in and says she’s assigning them lab partners.

He doesn’t know what system Mrs. Kwon is using to match them up, but when Wong Yukhei slides into the seat next to him he decides it must be the “Fuck Mark Lee” system.

“Hey! Mark, right?” The boy grins at him.

“Yeah.” Mark nods. It kind of stings that Yukhei doesn’t know his name. They’ve never spoke, but they’ve always had at least one class together since Yukhei moved to their school in sophomore year.

“Cool. Let’s start working on this experiment, then.”

Mark is suspecting that he’ll have to do most of the work, but Yukhei is...surprisingly good at chemistry. His only fault, really, is that he keeps zoning out and staring at something or someone across the room.

“You okay, dude?” Mark asks, hesitantly, half expecting Yukhei to beat him up for even asking.

“Do you think he likes me?” Yukhei asks.

That...is not what Mark was expecting.

“Do I think who likes you?”

“Donghyuck.” Yukhei sighs dreamily.

Mark blinks. Yukhei, the school’s star lacrosse player, likes Donghyuck? President of the drama club Donghyuck? The Donghyuck who Mark is pretty sure has never dated anyone? The Donghyuck who Mark is pretty sure thinks Yukhei is an idiot?

“Uhh… maybe?”

“I really wanna talk to him. But he’s so busy with the play. I heard that if they can’t find a new music director by next week they might have to cancel it and completely rework the script.”

“Oh, that sucks.” In all honesty, he really liked the drama club’s yearly productions. It’s how Donghyuck had first grabbed his attention. He played his role so convincingly, with no shame, even though he’d somehow ended up in the originally female role of Frenchie. The gangly, braces-sporting Mark of freshman year had been in awe. He doesn’t know why he blurts out “I’d thought about doing it but—“

Yukhei doesn’t let him finish.

“You can do it? That’s great! Donghyuck will be so happy!”

“W-wait! I said I’d thought about it. I wasn’t _actually_ going to do it.”

He didn’t wake up today expecting the captain of the lacrosse team to be giving him puppy dog eyes over a beaker or harmful chemicals.

“Why don’t you go for it? Do you like...not think you’re qualified or?”

“It’s not that. I just… have a lot of school work.” He lies.

“Pfft, who cares about that? Come on Mark, pleeaaase. You’ll be saving the school play! Like a hero in a disney channel movie!”

“But— I— fine! I’ll do it, okay?” He’s never been good with confrontation, sue him.

Yukhei looks happy, at least.

Drama club practice just happens to be being held at lunch that day. Mark sends a text to Jeno that can basically be summarised as “my dude you will not BELIEVE what just happened… also i can’t meet for lunch sry.” and proceeds to stand outside the auditorium doors for a solid few minutes, pacing.

There’s nothing to be scared of. Drama kids are like spiders. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.

He pushes the door open and walks inside with his eyes closed. He opens them to an almost empty room. It’s just him and Donghyuck, who’s sitting very impractically in his chair as he frowns at a script and throwing M&M’s in his mouth.

“Uhhh… should I leave?”

Donghyuck looks up then, surprise evident on his face. Apparently, he’d been too absorbed in whatever he was doing to notice the door slamming closed behind Mark.

“Depends.” He arches an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Uhhh… I’m here to uhhh… play? I’m here for the play! I wanted to make the music, if that’s still an option!”

Somehow, being alone in an almost dark room with Lee Donghyuck is very intimidating. Maybe it’s whatever feelings linger from his old crush. Maybe it’s the way Donghyuck seems so at home here. Maybe it’s the fact Mark is a bit of a social disaster.

Donghyuck jumps up off his seat, eyes practically sparkling as he approaches Mark. “Really? Oh my god, not to be dramatic but you’ve saved my life. Wait… are you any good?”

“I’d like to think so?”

“Good or not, it will have to do. At least we can still do the play. I’m sure my acting can cover up any other mistakes.”

Though the words aren’t quite _nice_ , he can hear how grateful Donghyuck really is underneath them.

“You really care about drama club, huh?” He asks without thinking.

Donghyuck blinks up at him. “I… yeah, I really do. Honestly, I think the play is the thing that gets me through the year sometimes. I just… I love acting. It’s _incredible_ , that feeling of slipping into a role and getting to experience so many different things.”

That’s kind of how Mark feels about music. He can lose himself in creating something. He doesn’t have to be _Mark Lee, possible loser_ anymore. He’s someone different. He’s someone he likes.

“God, why am I telling you all of this?” Donghyuck laughs. “The only other people who I’ve talked to like this are my dads, and my brother, before he grew into a little brat.”

Mark shrugs. “Maybe there’s just a part of you that wanted to talk about it. I’m always happy to listen.”

He expects that to be the end of this surprisingly nice, unsurprisingly awkward conversation, but Donghyuck grabs him by the arm and pulls him over to the chairs.

“Wanna go over the script? Even if you’re not an actor it would be helpful to know what you’re making music for. Besides, Ten is chronically late and all the other members have adjusted to his schedule, so it’s just us for another solid fifteen minutes.”

Mark isn’t unfamiliar with A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but it’s been a while, so he takes the opportunity. As they read together in silence, Mark can’t help but notice some changes have been made.

“Since when was this a musical.”

“Since Ten became head of the drama department. He refuses to put on anything that _isn’t_ a musical. But this year the school board wanted something more traditional so they ‘compromised’.”

“Shakespeare would be thrilled,” he notes genuinely. It’s another second until it hits Mark this means he won’t just be making background music but whole musical numbers.

At that moment, a man walks into the room and says “Who’s this?”

“This, Ten, is our new music guy.”

Ten walks up to Mark, looks him straight in the eye, and says “I love you.”

“Uhhh… thanks, man.”

After that, the other members of drama club start trickling in one by one. Mark finds he doesn’t really know most of them — either they’re underclassmen or kids who stick to themselves.

For much of the meeting, the actors are just running through their lines. Mark watches attentively, trying to get a feeling for the scenes so he knows what to do with them. Ten is surprisingly chill, telling Mark he can do what he wants as long as none of the songs he makes are boring or “sound like something a straight person would listen to.”

The hour passes quicker than he expected it to. The cast finishes running their lines and start to walk off stage until a massive whoop interrupts them. They all turn, Mark included, and find Yukhei standing by the door. His hair is damp and his lacrosse bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. If Mark had to guess, he’d say he’d just ran here from practice.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Donghyuck asks.

At that moment, Yukhei spots Mark in the crowd and waves.

“Mark, why is he waving at you?” Donghyuck’s voice is _ever so slightly_ judgemental.

“Uhh… it was kind of his idea for me to come here? I mean, I wanted to, but… anyway, he wanted to help y— I mean the play out.”

Mark chances a look at Donghyuck from under his lashes and thinks maybe, possibly, he’s actually blushing.

“Anyway! I have to go!” Mark past both of them and out of the auditorium.

Yukhei liking Donghyuck was one thing, one weird thing, but still not a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Donghyuck liking Yukhei back was… seriously? Mark had a crush on him for like all of junior year, and Donghyuck didn’t even look twice at him. Yet Yukhei does one nice thing for him and he’s blushing?

He’s long over the crush, but somehow that still stings. 

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Really, he’s not sure what he did in a past life to make his teachers hate him. It must have been _something_ , because nothing else explains why he’s walking out of school twenty minutes late with a veritable _pile_ of assignments to do over the next week.

The school is mostly empty, though there’s still a few stragglers. He ignores them all, grabs what he needs from his locker and heads out the door in preparation to walk home alone (really, why did Jeno have to have family nights on Friday? Mark has complaining to do.)

“Hey, there you are.”

He doesn’t jump at the voice.

“You jumped.” It laughs.

He turns around to find a girl perched on the wall, staring down at him with practiced disinterest.

“...Yeri?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What, did you really delete my number? That’s cold, Mark Lee. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

That’s when he _finally_ remembers the text. He also remembers how he was planning to ignore it and avoid her, but apparently she’s too smart to let him get away with that...not a surprise, really.

“I’m surprised you didn’t delete mine.”

“Oh, I did. I got your number from Chenle.”

Mark blinks. “Why does _Chenle_ know my number?”

“Chenle knows everything,” She replies, like it should be obvious, and to be fair she’s right. The underclassman is a relentless gossip, no one knows where he gets his information from and no one’s brave enough to find out.

“So what do you want?”” He fists his hands around the straps of his backpack.

“What do I want? That’s not the question. The question is… what do you want? And I know the answer… you want to be cool.”

His first urge is to deny it. His first urge is to turn tail and run. His first urge is to text Jeno about how insane this all is.

But none of that happens. What happens is this: He ducks his head, scrapes his foot in the dirt and asks ‘What’s it to you?’ with a lot less force than he had in his head.

“Oh, shy little lamb Mark Lee, I’m about to change your life.” She hops down from the wall and stands in front of him, staring into his eyes… no, staring through his eyes and into his soul. “I used to be a loser, just like you. I’m sure you remember… we were best friends, after all. But then, my life turned right around! I was cool! Popular! And do you know why? It’s because I got a squip.”

“A… squid?” Mark blinks.

Yeri sighs. “No, not a squid. A squip. Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. It’s nanotech, super hard to find, but I know where you can get one.”

Mark… does not understand what’s going on… at all… whatsoever. When he thought of talking to Yeri again, he didn’t think it would be about this, whatever _this_ even is.

“Why would I want one? Why do _you_ want me to have one?”

“It’s simple, really. You want one because it will show you how to be cool. I want you to have one because _my_ squip said I should.”

Show him how to be cool… it has to be a trick, right? It’s a prank, like asking the ugly kid on a date or pouring pigs blood over Carrie at the prom. Yeri hasn’t spoken to him in so long, and now this is what she approaches him with? It practically smells like a prank.

...Still…

“Where can I get one?” he whispers.

Yeri smiles.

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

 As he’s (finally) walking home from school, he does what he always does in new and confusing situations.

He calls Jeno.

“Bro.” Jeno picks up the phone.

“Bro,” Mark repeats. “You will not believe what happened today.”

“Tell us what happened, lad.”

“I spoke to Yeri.” It’s not the biggest revelation, and yet it is.

Jeno’s sharp inhale of breath seems to agree.

“She asked to speak to me. I wasn’t going to go, but she found me anyway.” He kicks some leaves along his path, feeling nervous about this whole thing. As he explains Yeri’s tale of the squip, his kicks get more frequent and more insecure. By the end of the conversation, he’s ringing his free hand around his backpack straps again.

“So someone you haven’t spoken to in years, and who quite possibly hates us, told you to go to the alley next to the mall after dark to meet some guy, who is going to give you a mysterious object in exchange for money.” Jeno repeats blankly.

“Yes.”

“Sick, lets go.”

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Despite Taeyong’s strange propensity for being both overprotective and distant, Mark has long mastered sneaking out of the house.

He grabs a denim jacket, because the autumn breeze bites at his skin once the sun sets. He slips a cap on his head, a weak attempt at disguise that makes him feel more confident. After that, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and waits.

“Boo!”

“Jeno, you literally texted me saying you were outside, did you really expect that to work?” He directs this question at the boy currently poking his head through the second story bedroom window. Thank god for that convenient lattice Taeyong always seems to forget about.

“It’s tradition.” Jeno pouts.

Mark can’t help the warm smile blooming on his face. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

Jeno climbs back down the lattice and Mark follows after, bracing himself for the fall despite it being barely off the ground. Once they’re both standing, they start their walk through the dimly lit suburban streets towards the mall.

“Hey,” Jeno says. “I know I said this idea was cool and all but… are you sure you really want to do this? I don’t know what happened to Yeri or why she’s talking like this but… it’s suspicious. I know that, you know that, any five year old with half a brain and decent parents knows that.”

Mark takes a sharp inhale of the brisk night air. Out here, it’s just them, under the orange glow of the streetlights. For as long as he can remember, it’s been them — Mark&Jeno, Jeno&Mark, forever bonded by ratty friendship bracelets and old Nintendo games.

He wouldn’t give that up for the world.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t hope for other things to change.

Even if this is ridiculous, even if it’s the long shot to end all long shots, he has nothing to lose by trying.

“I’ll be fine, Jeno.” he replies. “After all, I have you looking out for me.”

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Standing in a dark alley, Mark was hoping he’d feel like James Bond, or Jason Bourne, or Batman… okay, on second thought, maybe not Batman.

He just feels like Mark Lee. A little chillier than usual, kinda terrified, but still just Mark Lee.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there. Five minutes? Ten?

Should he be worried? Do the normal rules of punctuality apply to deals in mall back alleys?

He should probably just go. He shouldn’t have even let himself get his hopes up that Yeri’s strange offer was more than a prank. Jeno is waiting for him by the mall doors, probably worrying just as much as Mark is. He’ll go find his best friend, Jeno will laugh at him, they’ll walk home and raid Jeno’s kitchen for snacks before falling asleep in the bean bag chairs, leaving Mark to run home in the early hours before Taeyong wakes up and notices he’s gone.

Simple, easy, so much better than this quiet alley.

This quiet…

He hears a footstep. Then another. Then another. It doesn’t take long to realise that they’re heading straight for him.

Oh god, he’s gonna die. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die and never graduate high school, or drink his weight in alcohol, or kiss a boy, Taeyong will kill him all over again, Jeno will be sad, Jeno—

“You Mark Lee?” A gruff voice asks.

“Uhhh…”

“Tch, Whatever. Here you go, kid.” The mysterious figure shoves a package into Mark’s hands and leaves the way he came.

Mark runs out the alley.

“Mark!” Jeno breathes as soon as they spot each other. “Thank god. Did… did they show up? What happened?”

Mark blinks. Nothing feels real. It takes him a moment to remember that words are a thing and that he should form them with his mouth.

He shows Jeno the package still clutched in his hands and breathes out a laugh.

Looking at it, he’s not sure what he’s looking at. It’s small, that’s for sure. Small and grey and unassuming, wrapped in plastic.

“That’s it?” Jeno leans in, staring at it quizzically.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Jeno laughs, loud and ridiculous and familiar, noise echoing out into the night air.

“Holy fuck.”

Mark needs to sit down, and Jeno didn’t bother to throw a jacket on over his flimsy hoodie, so they head inside the mall. It’s pretty empty, considering the time. Some of the stores are already starting to close, but they make themselves at home in the food court.

Jeno disappears for a moment and comes back with two cups of soda for them.

“Free refills.” He grins. “The only true fight against capitalism.”

Mark laughs. He’s doing a lot of that tonight. The noises rattle in his chest, contesting against his pounding heart, but he’s not sure what else to do.

“So, what are you supposed to do? With the… squish? I mean?”

“Squip,” Mark corrects, staring at the aforementioned object where it sits on the table. “I think I’m supposed to, like, eat it.”

“What?” Jeno furrows his brow. “Like, take it like a pill? Are we _sure_ it’s not drugs?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Mark says, ignoring the second question.

With shaking hands, he unwraps the squip from it’s plastic wrapping and shoves it in his mouth before he can stop himself.

It tastes gross. And weirdly atmospheric.

He washes it down with his drink. Pepsi, with a dash of vanilla syrup, just the way he likes it.

Then everything goes black.

10110100011011010001101101000110110100011011010001101101000110110100011011010001101101000110

...Calibration in process…

01101000110110100011011010001101101000110110100010

10110100011011010001101101000110110100011011010001101101000110110100011011010001101101000110

01101000110110100011011010001101101000110110100010

...Calibration complete…

...Access Procedure Initiated…

01101000110110100011011010001101101000

...Accessing Neural Memory…

10011

...Accessing Muscle Memory

00110101

...Access Procedure...Complete.

“Mark Lee, welcome to your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor. Your squip.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so obviously I didn't intend to go seven months without updating when I started this fic. I won't bore you with the details, but a LOT has gone on in my life in the last seven months. Some good, most bad, a few bad but will eventually lead to good, y'know the drill. So, if you read this back when chapter one was first posted, I'm sorry, and I'm slowly starting to get my shit together finally, the evidence of which is this chapters existence. Lets get this show on the road, folks.
> 
> Bold is the squip  
> Bold + Italics is Mark

Mark opens his eyes to darkness. That’s not quite right, because he doesn’t really open his eyes, and it’s not really dark, but it’s close — he’s aware now, where he wasn’t a few moments ago, and that’s the only way he can put it into words. He’s aware, but not quite awake, he knows what he’s looking at now isn’t the food court, and that his mind is awake without his body.

It’s just him. His brain. 

His brain… and the voice speaking into it that he knows isn’t coming from him.

“Who… who are you?” Mark asks. He doesn’t know if he’s talking or thinking.

He feels like the voice rolls it’s eyes. “Like I said just a moment ago, I’m your squip. Really, try to keep up.”

It worked?

Holy fuck, it worked.

Here he is, communicating with his squip. Inside his brain. He is inside his brain, right? How do you even get inside your own brain? Or are you always inside your own brain? Wait, you _are_ your brain. So, that means the squip is—

“Please, stop thinking. I can hear you, you know,” the squip whines. “God, do you always worry this much? No wonder you’re unpopular.”

“I-uh-sorry?” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll work on it. Listen to me, and you’ll be cool before you know it.”

Thinking more rationally on this situation now that it’s really happening, he has to wonder how much a super computer can actually know about being cool.

“Certainly more than you.”

“Hey, that was uncalled for,” Mark whines.

“I am only stating the facts. You’re a nerd. You’re so pathetic, so absolutely pitiful, that you make me want to die.”

Wow, the voice in his head is fucking mean. 

“Don’t act like you don’t think the same things about yourself. I’m in you head, remember?”

“Okay, okay,” Mark breathes weakly. He feels as if his shoulders are slumping, as if he’s curling in on himself, though he’s still not sure about the state of his body in here. “So, how does this whole thing work? What do I have to do?”

“You simply have to follow what I tell you to do. But first, you have to wake up.”

“Oh. How do I do that?” 

“...That is the one thing I can not tell you how to do.”

Right, seems fair.

He just needs to wake up.

When he wakes up, he can tell Jeno all about how it _worked_.

And then, his life can finally start.

He just needs to—

When he comes to, he blinks blearily and lets out a groan. The ceiling is spinning. He definitely has a body now; he knows this because every inch of it is aching. Thoughts travel through his mind in disjointed fragments. For a moment, he exists in that world that blurs the lines of dreams and reality.

In the next moment, he exists in a hospital room..

This is alarming for a multitude of reasons

  1. He’s in the hospital
  2. He is 99% sure that he passed out in the malls food court.
  3. Presuming the second statement is true, he has no memory of how he got from the food court to the hospital.
  4. Jeno, who was 100% with him in the 99% likelihood he was in the food court, is not here.
  5. Taeyong _is_ here, sitting at Mark’s bedside.



“Oh, thank God you’re awake!” Taeyong scrambles to his feet. He immediately places his hand on Mark’s forehead, checking for a temperature like he has been doing since they were kids. “Are you okay? How do you feel? And what were you _thinking_ sneaking out like that?!”

Mark’s thoughts have still not quite adjusted to the flow of time in the waking world, but he has enough of his wits about him to not point out that this is hardly the first time he’s snuck out. He does _not_ have enough of his wits about him to not ask “How did I get here?”

**Oh, Good going. Being grounded for life is definitely going to help your popularity.**

Mark shoots up in bed, remembering the most important thing that happened last night. The squip. He has a squip.

“Holy fuck.” he whispers.

Taeyong narrows his eyes at him. “Are you delirious? Wait… Are you on _drugs_?!”

Oh, it’s better than drugs.

Mark just collapses back on the bed.

“Mark, talk to me, please. You passed out at the mall. Jeno called me and once he calmed down enough to explain what happened I came to pick you up. You were still unconscious when I got there, so obviously I took you straight to the hospital. Or maybe the right thing to do would have been call an ambulance? That would have been quicker. God, what was I thinking?” He runs his hands down his face in a clear sign of exhaustion.

Mark takes pity on him. Just a little.

“I’m fine, Taeyong. I’m fine. I don’t know what happened, but I feel okay now.”

Both statements are a lie, especially the second one. He imagines being hit by a truck feels better than he does right now. His limbs are heavy with an ever-present ache, there’s a pain behind his eyes that spreads through his jaw into his teeth, and his brain is like a weight inside his head. He should be worried, probably, but somehow he can’t bring himself to be.

**The side-effects should wear off in a mere matter of hours.**

_Okay, thanks,_ he sends his thoughts somewhere in the vague direction of his squip.

“Well, at least you’re awake now.” Taeyong sighs. “I have to get to work. I’m already running late. A nurse should be in soon.”

Right. Of course he has to head to work. Mark doesn’t know why he expected any different.

“Call me if anything happens, okay?” Taeyong tells him before closing the door, leaving Mark alone again.

Like any self-respecting bedridden teenager, he immediately reaches for his phone.

Ten new next messages. Surprisingly, only nine of them are from the same person.

_Jenbro_

Hey i’m sorry i’m not there, after I called Taeyong he called my moms and...hoo boy, someone is in trouble.

 

_Jenbro_

Me, the someone is me. I’m in so much fucking trouble. I think mom might cast a hex on me.

 

_Jenbro_

You’re not replying. You’re not even leaving me on read. Does that mean you haven’t woken up yet? Oh god. Oh fuck.

 

_Jenbro_

You have to be okay. I Can’t get past level nine without you.

 

_Jenbro_

Okay, I waited a whole five minutes between messages this time. Still no response. I’m...kinda freaking out here.

 

_Jenbro_

Also I’m on my fifth coffee because I’m legally not allowed to sleep until I know you’re okay.

 

_Jenbro_

Please be okay, Mark. I need you to be okay. I just...I need you.

 

_Jenbro_

Just...text me the second you wake up, okay?

 

_Jenbro_

We’re out of coffee this house is a nightmare.

 

Considering the fact that, if Mark’s math is correct, he’d fallen unconscious roughly an hour ago, Jeno’s freak out is pretty impressive. At least, it would be, if it didn’t make his heart clench in a way he’s not sure he entirely understands.

 

_You:_

I lived bitch

 

There. Now Jeno will know he’s fine. Everything will go back to normal.

**Check the other text message.**

He kind of just wants to sit on this page until his best friend’s typing bubble pops up, but he does as the squip tells him

 

_Unknown number:_

I’m guessing you’re probably feeling like shit right now. Trust me, it’s worth it.

 

He saves Yeri’s number. 

(Honestly, he’d never deleted it in the first place. He’d lost it along with his old phone, though he kept the same number.)

**Text her back.**

**_Saying what?_ **

**Tell her you’ll see her in school on Monday.**

**_...That’s it?_ **

Mark shrugs and types out the words the squip tells him. Barely a moment later, there’s a reply.

 

_Yeri:_

Yeah. Sit with us at lunch.

 

He nearly drops his phone in shock. Not to sound like a high school cliche, but Yeri’s table is _the_ popular table. Yeri, Jaemin, Renjun, Yukhei, Jungeun and Doyeon all sit at that table like royalty while the rest of the cafeteria scurries around the edges, hoping not to get in their way.

**Say you’ll think about it.**

**_What?! I can’t say that!_ **

This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s _less_ than a once in a lifetime opportunity for people like Mark.

**Trust me, Mark.**

Mark types it out and hits send without daring to look. When he finally does gather the courage to check his phone, there’s already another text there.

 

_Yeri:_

You’re fitting in already.

 

After a few more moments, a nurse finally does come in and checks his vitals. His blood pressure is a little low, but other than that the results all come back surprisingly healthy. They stick him on an IV of fluid to help raise it back up then let him go after two different doctors can’t find anything wrong with him.

True to the squip’s word, the side-effects are all but gone, leaving behind just a state of tiredness. Then again, that might just be the hour.

He walks back home, lets himself in, and collapses on his bed.

He’s fast asleep when his phone beeps with a text.

 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

The first morning with the squip is...an experience, to put it lightly.

Saturday mornings, he has a routine: He wakes up, scrolls through social media on his phone until he can be bothered to move, showers, gets dressed, and finds something he can procrastinate his homework with.

The squip doesn’t mess up his routine, per se. Its basic components are still in tact. It just...makes suggestions. 

**Not that shirt. It looks like hand-me-downs from your great-grandpa’s colourblind sister.**

**_Can you just tell me which shirt I should wear?_ **

**The white one. It’s passable, until we can get you some new clothes at some point.**

**_New clothes? In this economy?!_ **

**_Just finish getting dressed. You’re going out._ **

This comes as a surprise to Mark, who was planning to hole up in his room with music and homework. What else is a self-respecting teenager supposed to do on a Saturday after all?

**Check your phone**.

One new text message. Is Jeno finally awake?

 

_Yeri:_

I’m picking you up at noon. Be ready.

 

The message is unexpected and vaguely threatening. Mark stares at it for several moments, like one would a riddle or a particularly complicated algebra question, before remembering this is apparently his life now.

He’s so excited he almost forgets Jeno still hasn’t text him back. 

Almost.

 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Yeri pulls up outside his house five minutes late, not in a convertible or a BMW or whatever else the cool kids in the movies drive, but in a beat up blue pickup truck.

He makes no comment on this, but apparently he stares too long, because Yeri rolls her eyes and says, “If you’re not in the passenger seat in five seconds, I’m driving off without you.”

He scrambles into his designated spot. Yeri starts the engine with a self-satisfied grin.

“So, uh, where are we going exactly?” He asks, not before they’ve sat in silence (ignoring the gentle hum of the radio’s latest hits) for five minutes.

“Jaemin’s house.”

Mark Lee has never been to Na Jaemin’s house. Until this moment, he hadn’t even been sure people like Na Jaemin lived in houses. Surely, they existed on another plane of existence surrounded only by other popular, beautiful people just like themselves. It was the only explanation for why their lives were so much better than everyone else’s.

But no, apparently Na Jaemin does, in fact, live in a house. A house Mark is going to right now. This is insane. This is _incredible._

**Be chill.**

**_What?_ **

**You’re practically fanboying. Cut it out. Be. More. Chill.**

**_Right. Right, sorry._ **

“Okay, cool,” he breathes out loud.

It is a fact of the world that all towns can be split into three sections: the nice part of town, the part of town where you don’t want to go after dark, and the rest. Here, the word ‘fact’ means something which is often stated, despite being oversimplified, if not entirely wrong. However, this doesn’t change that Jaemin very clearly lives in the nice part of town.

Yeri does not seem to care about this, or about the beautifully modern, flawlessly white house in front of them, and flounces up to knock on the door. Mark hurries after her, looking as out of place as he feels. He quickly tries to right himself before the squip starts sassing him inside his head again.

The door seems to open in slow motion, bit by bit, and each inch it moves is accompanied by a pound in Mark’s heart resounding like a drumbeat. In truth, a word which here means ‘the objective retelling of an event not cloaked by anxiety and a teenagers propensity for hyperbole’, the door probably opens at a completely normal speed, revealing not Jaemin, but a smiling Huang Renjun.

Of all things that have struck Mark as unusual today, this isn’t one of them, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jaemin without Renjun or vice versa. They’ve been friends for as long as Mark has known them. In a way, they remind him of himself and Jeno, if himself and Jeno were cool and popular and had ridiculously shiny hair.

“Oh, hey Yeri. And… uhh… Mark?” Renjun’s smile doesn’t fall, but the furrow to his brow betrays his confusion.

“Mark’s hanging out with us. That cool?” 

Renjun blinks. “Uh… yeah, sure, come in.”

Mark follows him into the hallway, trying not to stare at anything and everything in the hallway. It takes a long time and no time at all for them to reach the open space living area, minimalist if not for the teenagers filling the space.

His eyes land on Yukhei before anyone else, who rushes up to him and grabs him into a hug. 

“Mark! Buddy! What are you doing here?”

Yukhei let’s him go, and Mark pretends he’s catching his breath as he tries to think of an answer.

**Be casual. Act like you belong.**

“Oh, just, y’know, hanging out.” He stretches his hands behind his head in what feels like the most forced show of relaxation of all time. “Chillin’.”

Yukhei, thankfully, does not seem to care about Mark’s unconvincing show. 

“Cool! Come sit down, I wanna talk to you about… y’know.”

“Hold on.” Jaemin’s voice rips through the air. Mark turns to face him, sat on the sofa with a smile that doesn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. “No offence, but do I know you?”

“...I’m Mark.”

Jaemin’s smile stretches wider “So I _don’t_ know you,”

“He’s Mark. He’s cool!” Yukhei beams.

“Yeah, play nice, Nana.” Renjun adds.

Jaemin just rolls his eyes. “The people have spoken. Make yourself at home, Mike.”

“...It’s Mark.”

“Oh, he knows. He just does this to assert his dominance.” Renjun laughs.

Mark, thoroughly confused, let’s Yukhei lead him to where he was sat on the floor.

“So, after you left the other day, me and Hyuck talked. Well… I talked, he listened… possibly. But I think it went well? I said we should hang out sometime, and he said—“

“So, what movie are we watching?” Yeri asks the room, cutting off Yukhei’s monologue.

“Mean Girls.” Jaemin answers.

Yeri glares at him. “We watched that last time. I, personally, think we should watch Saw Two.”

“No! No way in hell!” Yukhei immediately protests. “Anything but that… or anything else Yeri suggests. I still can’t sleep since you made us watch Nightmare on Elm Street.”

“How about we watch The Lion King?” Renjun suggests.

“We watched that the time before last time, Junnie,” Jaemin whines. “Yukhei, suggest something else.”

“We should watch She’s The Man.”

“Agreed. Majority rules, sorry Junnie.” Jaemin smiles.

“Well, we haven’t asked what Mark wants to watch yet.” Renjun crosses his arms before turning to face Mark. “Well?”

**Agree with Renjun.**

**_What? Why?_ **

**He’s your easiest way in. Agreeing with Renjun will make everyone like you.**

**_Even Jaemin?_ **

**Especially Jaemin.**

“I like The Lion King,” Mark finally answers. It’s not a lie, he does like The Lion King. Well, he hasn’t seen it since he was like five, but he thinks he remembers liking it.

 “We’re tied, Jaemin,” Renjun says smugly.

 “No you’re not,” Yeri replies. “I agree with The Lion King too.”

 “Yeri! How could you do this to me!” Jaemin complains.

 “Remember last month when you stole my fries at lunch? Payback’s a bitch, Nana.”

 Jaemin groans, sinking down the sofa and half way onto the floor. Mark thinks it’s kind of dramatic. How bad could The Lion King be?

 

 ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Twenty minutes into The Lion King, Mark is crying.

 No one seems to notice, because Jaemin is crying even louder.

 “It’s not fair! Why did Mufasa have to die? Couldn’t Simba see that Scar was evil?”

 “He’s a baby, Nana. You can’t hold babies accountable for their actions.”

 “I can and I will,” Jaemin hisses through his sobs.

 “Simba _is_ kind of dumb. I mean… the dude’s name is Scar. Not exactly a trustworthy name.” Mark says, wiping his own tears away. 

“See Renjun! Mark agrees with me!” Jaemin beams. 

 Renjun shoots him a glare. “Traitor.”

 They settle down for the rest of the movie: Mark and Jaemin’s tears calm down. Mark doesn’t know the words anywhere near well enough to sing along, but Renjun and Yukhei do, and apparently also have no shame, at least not until Yeri silences them by first throwing popcorn at them, and then a cushion when popcorn proves ineffective. 

 When the movie ends, Yukhei remembers that he has weekend practice that day and quickly disappears. Yeri also disappears, though she doesn’t offer a reason why, or a chance for Mark to beg her to take him with her. This leaves Mark, Renjun, and Jaemin alone in awkward silence.

 Renjun breaks the silence with: “I want a milkshake. Mark, do you like milkshakes?”

 “Uh… I guess?”

 “Right answer. Come get milkshakes with us. Jaemin will drive.”

 “I'm lactose-intolerant.” Jaemin crosses his arms.

 Renjun snorts. “No you’re not. You’re just dramatic.”

 “There isn’t room in my mom’s car for all of us,” he tries instead, and Mark immediately realises what Jaemin is really trying to say.

 He doesn’t want Mark to go with them. He didn’t want Mark around when he got here, and despite seeming to adjust to his presence throughout the movie he doesn’t want him around now.

 It doesn’t sting, as such. He didn’t expect any less. Well, maybe for a moment, but he should have known he was hoping for too much.

 “Fine, I’ll drive then.” Renjun bristles. “Come on, Mark.”

 “I—” 

  **Mark, do not turn this down.**

  ** _They’re fighting! Won’t going with Renjun just make things worse?_**

  **I know what I’m doing. You can not turn down this opportunity. You can’t just listen, you have to obey.**

  ** _But—_**

  **I told you that everything about you makes me want to die. That hasn’t changed just because of one movie. If you want to make something worthwhile of yourself, if you want to be somebody instead of the nobody you’ve been for your whole life, you have to do as I say.**

 Mark looks between the two boys in front of him. In truth, neither are looking back at him. Jaemin is staring at Renjun like he’s the only thing in the room, maybe the only thing in the world, that matters. Renjun is resolutely not looking at Jaemin, instead facing the door as he waits for Mark’s response and pretends he can’t feel Jaemin’s eyes on the side of his face. 

 Mark is immediately hit by the knowledge that there’s a history here he’ll never understand. The downside of suddenly befriending the kids you’ve spent your formative years wishing you could even speak to is that they’ve lived whole lives before you. Maybe, no matter how hard he tries, he can never truly be part of them.

 But he can’t worry about that. Not now. Not when the whole room and the voice in his mind are all waiting for his answer.

 “Okay.” Mark hurries to his feet. 

 Renjun smiles, but it’s not really for him. “Let’s go. Bye, Jaemin.”

 Jaemin doesn’t say goodbye to either of them as they walk out the door.

 In the passenger seat of Renjun’s car, Mark is subjected to his third uncomfortable silence of the day. Renjun drives with purpose, not taking his eyes off the road, and the idea of talking leaves Mark’s mind almost as quickly as it passes it.

 He’s not really sure where he thinks Renjun is taking him. Maybe home, not that Renjun knows where he lives. Maybe to somewhere to remote and far away where they’ll never find Mark’s body. Despite the fact he outright said they’re going for milkshakes, Mark is surprised when they pull up outside the local diner that’s been there longer than either of them have been alive. 

 A waiter that introduces himself as Johnny with thinly veiled exhaustion in his voice takes their order. Renjun orders a cappuccino flavour milkshake. Mark orders strawberry and oreo flavour, though in truth he just picked the first thing he saw on the menu.

 It isn’t until Johnny has delivered the order to their table and Renjun has taken a sip of his that the silence breaks. “I’m sorry about Jaemin.” Renjun’s voice is quiet as he swirls his straw in his drink. “He’s not mean, honestly. He’s just… going through a lot right now.” 

 “Oh.” Mark doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know Jaemin well enough to agree with or refute this statement, not that he _would_ refute it to Jaemin’s best friend’s face.

 Renjun takes Mark’s monosyllabism as a cue to continue. “I’m trying to be there for him, you know? But he’s not making it easy. Whenever I try to talk to him about his problems he just pushes me away.”

 Mark, if he’s totally honest with himself, has no idea how to help. But Renjun looks absolutely crushed, and though Mark barely knows him he finds that he can’t bear to see that look on his face.

 “Maybe he’s just not ready to talk about it. Sometimes, there’s things that you just need to deal with yourself.”

 “But I don’t want him to have to deal with it alone! I wish there was something I could do to help him. It feels like we aren’t as close as we used to be. It… it hurts.”

 “You like him.” Mark blinks, the realisation hitting him all at once.

  **Idiot** , the squip chides him.

 Renjun just laughs— a sad, pathetic sound,

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “I like him. Falling for your best friend, what a high school cliche, huh?” 

 Mark’s phone sits heavy in his pocket where it still hasn’t received a text from Jeno.  

 “Yeah, I guess it is,” he says. “But maybe it’s such a popular cliche for a reason.”

 “And what reason is that?”

 “Because it’s true.”

When their heavy conversation dies down, having milkshakes with Renjun turns out to be a lot of fun. Renjun is surprisingly sweet, not at all what Mark expected from one of the most popular kids in school, though it’s clear from earlier that he still has a sharp tongue if he needs it. Their conversation winds into school stuff, then takes a quick detour to an intense debate about aliens, back to Renjun reminiscing about his memories with his friends. In turn, Mark talks a little about Jeno, and though Renjun probably barely knows who Jeno is, he’s a good listener.

 When their drinks are long-finished and the sun is starting to set, they finally gather their stuff and leave before they get kicked out for loitering. 

 “Thanks,” Renjun says once they’re standing outside. “I think I really needed that.”

 “It’s no problem.” Mark smiles. “I had a good time.”

 “Me too… I’ll see you at school Monday?”

 “I’ll be there, unfortunately,” Mark laughs and waves him goodbye.

  **That could have gone a lot worse.**

  ** _Yeah, it really could have, huh? I’m glad I went with him._**

  **I told you.**

 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Mark’s good mood dissipates when he gets home and realises that for once, Taeyong isn’t at work, and is instead waiting for him in the kitchen.

 “Where have you been?” He asks, a heavy sigh in his voice.

 “I was out with friends.” Mark tells him, barely acknowledging his brother as he beelines to the fridge to grab a drink.

 “You were _grounded_ , Mark. You snuck out and landed yourself in hospital. You can’t just disappear on me like this when I explicitly told you to stay home.”

 “In my defence, I didn’t think you’d be home to notice my absence.”

 Mark can tell Taeyong’s patience is wearing thin. He knows the smartest thing to do right now would be to mutter a half-hearted apology and escape to his room. Really, he doesn’t know why he’s trying to cut that last string keeping his brother together, other than that he’s so _tired_. He’s tired of coming home to an empty house. 

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “It means that you’re never home. Hell, I’m surprised you remembered I existed.”

 “I am _trying,_ Mark. If I don’t work, then we won’t have food, or this roof over our heads.”

 He’s tired of attempts at parenting from someone nowhere near old enough to be his parent. 

 “That shouldn’t be your job.”

 “No, it shouldn’t. But someone has to do it.”

 He’s tired of their parent’s absence.

 “I want to be there for you, Mark. I wish I could spend more time with you, but if I did that then we’d be spending time together on the streets.”

 He’s tired of missing his big brother.

 “You’re not my dad. You can’t ground me.” Mark can feel the refrigerator handle digging into his palm where he’s gripping it too hard.

 “Yes, I can. Mom and Dad left me in charge, whether they realise it or not.”

 “No, Taeyong. They just _left_.” 

 “That doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want!”

 Mark doesn’t realise he’s slammed the fridge door shut until he hears it crash.

 “You’re not my dad,” he says again, breathing heavy. “And I’m going out.”

Before Taeyong can stop him, he runs. He runs out of the kitchen, then out the front door. Even when his feet hit the pavement, he doesn’t stop running. Tears sting at his eyes, blurring his vision. Still, his thoughts race faster than his legs ever could.

 Why did his parents leave?

 Why didn’t they love him?

 Why does it seem like his brother doesn’t love him anymore either?

 Why don’t they love him?

 What’s so wrong with him?

 Is he really that worthless? Is he so invisible that everyone can just leave him without a second thought?

  _Loser. Geek. Unloveable. Unloveable. Unloveable,_ his mind chants.

  _Everything about me makes me want to die,_ he thinks.

 Then, he’s outside Jeno’s door.

 It doesn’t surprise him, that his feet led him here. This is the path he’s walked more times than he can count. This is familiar. This is somewhere safe. 

 When Jeno opens the door, he realises three things:

  1. He’d already knocked on the door without realising it.
  2. At some point it started raining, and he’s absolutely drenched.
  3. This is what it feels like to come home.



 Jeno is wrapped up in a soft white hoodie, golden porchlight shining down on him. Rain is still falling, but Mark doesn’t notice it. It’s late October, but suddenly he’s never felt so warm.

 “Mark?” Jeno asks. There’s _something_ in his voice. It’s heavy and scratching, like he’s spent the day talking too much or not enough. It reminds Mark of the voice he hears the mornings after sleepovers, wishing him a good morning and urging him downstairs for orange juice and pancakes made from a cheap packet mix. 

 “Hi.” Mark says dumbly. His voice sounds ten times worse than Jeno’s ever could, still choked even if his tears have dried.

 “Hi,” Jeno laughs. “Come in. You’re drowning.”

 Inside, it really is warm. Jeno’s mom always leaves the heater running high, not a fan of even the slightest chill. Mark tears off his soaking wet jacket and hoodie, leaving him in just a t-shirt that’s a little damp but bearable. Jeno doesn’t lead him down to the basement, even though that’s where they usually hang out. Instead, Mark stands in his bedroom as Jeno throws him a dry hoodie. He doesn’t know if it’s Jeno’s, or one of the many hoodies Mark has left here over the years. He isn’t sure there’s a difference anymore.

 “What’s wrong?” Jeno asks, patting the spot on the bed next to him in an invitation for Mark to sit down.

 “I got in a fight with Taeyong.” Mark says, taking his place on the bed and resting his head on Jeno’s shoulder.

 “I’m sorry.” Jeno says.

 Having been his best friend since kindergarten, Jeno knows everything that’s gone on in Mark’s family the past few years. He was the one Mark complained to when his parents started fighting non-stop, he was the shoulder Mark cried on when they both packed up and left, and he’s been the one Mark expressed all his frustrations and fears to when suddenly his brother was forced to fall into the role of provider and parent before he’d even graduated college. He knows that all he can really do to help is listen, Mark just hopes he also knows that that’s all he needs.

 “It’s fine,” Mark sighs. “It’ll blow over, always does.”

 Mark was tired before, but now, comfortable and warm and not thrumming with a multitude of negative emotions, he realises he’s also sleepy. His eyes start to flutter closed against his will.

 “Do you wanna sleep here?” 

 Mark nods.

 He can vaguely sense Jeno fluttering around him, first to get Mark under the blankets, then to turn the light off. Eventually, he slides back into bed. Jeno’s bed isn’t the biggest, but they’ve been sharing since they were kids and never stopped.

 “Goodnight, Mark.” Jeno whispers.

 “G’night.” Mark mumbles back.

 It isn’t until he’s already half asleep he realises he forgot to ask why Jeno hadn’t responded to his texts all day, or even tell him about his day and how the squip worked after all.

 Oh well, he thinks, they can talk about all that in the morning. Right now, he’s content to just lie here just like this.

 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶

 

Mark wakes up alone.

 At first, this doesn’t affect him in the slightest. Jeno could be in the bathroom, or downstairs talking to his moms, or outside in the garden just enjoying the air like he sometimes does in the way that makes Mark feel a little awed.

 As the minutes tick by, he becomes bemused, then puzzled, then discomfited about the fact Jeno still hasn’t returned.

 His only company is the steady buzzing of his phone as he ignores Taeyong’s calls.

He could go find Jeno. That’s what he _wants_ to do, but he knows he has to go home. Leaving again no doubt only increased the amount of time he’s going to be grounded. Besides, despite everything, he doesn’t actually want Taeyong to worry. So he grabs his phone and wallet off the nightstand, picks up his now dry clothes from downstairs, pushes his thoughts about his best friend away, and heads home to fix the mess he made. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter @kdnciub and curiouscat.me/luminaries


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